


The Training Scene

by NephilimEQ



Series: The Missing Scenes [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Complete, F/M, Missing Scenes, Mostly Canon Compliant, Some angst, a lot of pining, fanfiction gaps, haymiss abderdeen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephilimEQ/pseuds/NephilimEQ
Summary: "They let us work with our own tributes right before the game, so you and I will be going down at nine..." The missing training scene between Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen.





	The Training Scene

 

**The Training Scene **

“Where’s Peeta?”

“He’s in his room, now, listen; tomorrow’s the last day, and they let us work with our own tributes right before the game, so you and I will be going down at nine,” Haymitch says, and I am surprised at not hearing Peeta’s name included.

“Well, what about him?”

I see Effie glance at Haymitch across the table.

“Oh, he says he wants to be trained on his own from now on,” Haymitch carelessly replies, taking a bite of the green stalk in his hand.

I am surprised…and upset.

“What?”

“Well,” he drawls, “This kind of thing does happen at this point…there’s only one winner, right?”

I have nothing to say in response and silence falls across the table.  Soon after the awkward exchange, I excuse myself to go back to my over-luxurious room.

I wonder about what Hamitch had says; how he will be working with me the last day.  Does that mean he is going to tell me how to get more sponsors, or will he actually be _physically_ training me? Or just having me train while he talks to me?  I’m not sure which one it is going to be, so I feel unbalanced and unsure of what to do with myself.

I strip off my clothes and slip into a pair of satin pajamas.  I am then surprised when moments before I get into bed there is a knock at my door.

I open it just enough to see Hamitch, but before I can ask him what he is doing here, he simply says, “Wear your training clothes tomorrow morning,” and then he leaves.  With that on my mind, I fall into an uneasy sleep.

\--

The next morning I am up and ready to go before nine o’ clock even rolls around, so I walk out to the main room early, fully expecting to find it empty…but  to my surprise it isn’t.  I know I must look like a fish, my mouth gaping open slightly, but I am shocked to see my mentor already awake and not in his usual white slacks, tailcoat, and vest, but wearing a training uniform identical to mine and Peeta’s.

And looking surprisingly fit in it.

He sees my look of surprise and smirks at me in the way that he always does and says, “Expecting me to be in a drunken stupor, sweetheart?”

I don’t respond to his jibe, knowing that to say anything at all will be a wrong answer and his smirk grows even wider.

“Looks like you’ve finally learned something,” he then says enigmatically, tossing a bag over his shoulder and motioning for me to follow him. I give him a confused look, and he clarifies his statement by saying, “How to keep your mouth shut.”

I immediately feel my hackles rise, and just as I am opening my mouth to say something, I see him looking at me from the corner of his eye, and my mouth snaps closed, realizing that by saying anything, I will, yet again, only dig myself into a hole, and so I say nothing.

He then gives me a genuine smile as we step onto the elevator and head for the sub-basement training facility.

The two of us say nothing on the way down, but as we step out of the elevator I can’t help but ask, “What’s in the bag?”

He glances at me and I can see him consciously making a decision whether or not to tell me anything.  After a long moment, he says, “Everything you need to learn from me,” and then in a flash of movement too quick for me to follow, he reaches into the bag one second and in the next a blade is sticking out of the head of a dummy more than twelve yards away, the sound of it echoing through the large, mostly empty space.

My breath hitches, getting caught in my throat as I hear the faint twang still thrumming in the air and see the look in his eyes as he stares at the hilt of the blade.

It’s the look that I see on him only when he is sober, the one that silently frightens me.

I can always see three things in that look: disgust, anger…and an overwhelming sadness.

Not questioning it, I walk over to where he stands, about to ask him a question, but in the next second I find myself inexplicably pinned down on the mat next to us on the floor, my right arm wrenched up behind my back, my legs pinned by his weight, which I now know to be all muscle.

He then leans down and whispers into my ear, his breath brushing over my skin as he speaks, “You’re too used to that bow of yours, sweetheart…time to learn some basic hand-to-hand combat skills…”

I simply nod.

“Okay.”

Obviously pleased that I am listening to him for once, and not questioning him, he lets me up off the floor and then motions for me to square off opposite him.  As I take a moment to try and center my weight and make myself more balanced, he kicks out a foot and knocks me in the knee, throwing me off my balance and then pins me down a second time.  This time I am on my back, Haymitch pinning my hands above my head, pressing my wrists into the mat.

“Sweetheart, when you’re about to get into a fight, there is no time to ask your opponent to wait for you to get ready, so you have to learn how to use your body in any disadvantageous situation…now, let’s try this again.”

I wait for him to get off of me…but he doesn’t move, merely smirking down at me.

“Haymitch,” I say, a warning tone in my voice. “Let me up.”

He continues to smirk.

“This is a _dis_ advantageous situation, now, isn’t it?” He leans in the way he did before, this time his lips a mere breath away from mine, and he says, “Now get out of it.”

My first instinct, of course, is to knee him in the groin, but I find myself unable to move my legs, as he is sitting on them, and he gives me a look with an arched eyebrow, pulling away from my face slightly and then he makes a clicking sound with his tongue.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonishes me with a gently chastising tone. “Don’t even think about going there, sweetheart…why do you think I pinned you like this?”

I glare up at him and then try to use a move that I saw Glimmer use the day before, using my lower body to try and turn the tables and land on top of _him_ …but I can’t seem to find the right angle, and merely end up writhing underneath him, unable to free myself from his grip.

There is a gleam in his eyes as he continues to pin me down, his arrogance shining through.

I groan and attempt once more to try to throw his weight off of me and he lets out a chuckle and arches an eyebrow at me, yet again.

“Don’t think that’s gonna work, but points for trying…”

I am determined to wipe the smirk off of his face…and that is when it occurs to me what to do.  I am aware of our, well, _intimate_ position, and finally realize how I can use it to my advantage.  I move my hips again, but this time I press them up into his, almost lazily tilting my hips in a suggestive manner, and he looks down at me in shock.

Murmuring low, so as to catch his attention in the right way, I say, “I kinda like you there, Haymitch…it’s a nice position…”

He gives me another shocked look, this time his mouth gaping open, and as I repeat the motion his eyes close slightly and he returns the pressure, unknowingly his legs shifting in the process, allowing me to move a bit more underneath him.

Knowing I need more room, I lift my head a bit off the mat and brush my lips against the skin of his arm, and then gently snake my tongue out to trace the veins on his wrist.

He lets out a grunt, which lets me know that I am affecting him.

And he moves a bit more.

…And this is my opportunity.  Finally having enough room, I pull my legs out from beneath him and manage to flip him over, my hips now straddling his and I give him a faint grin.  Surprisingly enough, he returns it…and then laughs.

“Not bad, sweetheart…not bad.” We stay there in our position for a moment longer, and then, in a move as quick as his knife throwing, Haymitch flips us over once more and says, “Now, try it again. With _out_ the whole seduction routine…”

I roll my eyes, and then he adds, arching a suggestive eyebrow, “Not that I minded…”

The two of us continue for several minutes, until I am finally able to throw him off using several different moves that he eventually explains to me, and he makes me practice them until they feel almost natural. 

 _It was a shame that they only let them train with their Tributes on the last day_ , I think to myself as Haymitch shows me how to get loose from an attack from behind.  He is an excellent teacher and in remarkable shape for a man who is in his forties and a supposed drunk, too.  However, I notice that he stopped drinking as soon as we had arrived at the Capitol.

He then proceeds to show me, over the next few hours, a few takedown techniques that I can use, as well, and I feel that I pick up on the skills fairly quickly, considering he weighs significantly more than me and because of the fact that I successfully take him down on three separate occasions.

After a while, he taps the black band on his wrist and the time shows in a holo an inch above the band.

It’s already noon.

He looks over at me and then says, “Let’s take a break and get some food.”

I nod and watch as he reaches for the bag and pulls out several objects wrapped up in silver tetra-foil.  I approach carefully, still not entirely comfortable about being too familiar with him, and he hands me one.  Suddenly feeling ravenous, I tear it open and bite into the bar, and I am surprised when I taste a meaty and nutty flavor.

He sees my look of surprise and explains, “It’s nothing but protein and carbs, everything you need to give you fuel and to keep your muscles responsive.  It’s good for training.”

I nod again, chewing it a while longer, enjoying the taste, and then swallow it just before I ask, “Why do they only give Mentors one day to train with their Tributes?”

He lowers his eyes, as well as the hand that holds his food, and is silent for a long moment…and then he brings his eyes back up to mine and gives me a look that I don’t quite understand; I can see concern, worry, fear…and then, behind all of that, I can see something else, something that I don’t quite understand.

Finally, he says, “They don’t want the Mentors to get too attached to their Tributes.  Considering the odds…well, they need to keep their previous Victors happy, you see…”

I nod, yet again.

“Yeah.”

I don’t know what else to say, so I stay quiet. 

We finish our food in silence, both of us unsure of what to say, and then as soon as we are both done, he motions for me to follow him over to a more private section of the training floor, an area where I’d seen the boy from Five training the other day, which I do, but as I follow him I wonder where the other Mentors and Tributes are.

“Haymitch…” He grunts, so I take that as permission to continue. “Where’s everyone else?  I thought you said that they let the Mentors work with their own Tributes right before the game…so, where are they?”

He gives me a sideways look and then says, “Most of them simply give them the day off, not wanting to be bothered with it.”

I can hear from his tone that he is trying not to say something else, so, of course, I push, trying to get more of an answer out of him, a little bit irritated that getting information from him sometimes is like pulling teeth.

“Why do _you_ bother with it?  I would think that you’d like the day off of being sober,” I say, walking right by him as he suddenly stops in his tracks.

I can feel him staring at me, but I can’t bring myself to turn my head back, suddenly realizing what I had just said out loud, nearly immediately regretting my accusing words, but it’s too late to take them back, so I simply wait for a scathing sarcastic response.  I receive none.  I stop walking and wait for him to say something, _any_ thing…and finally, after several long drawn out, tense seconds, he says three words.

“You’re the first.”

At hearing this, I look back at him, wondering if he is saying what I think he is saying.

He sees my look and nods, walking to stand next to me, and then says, “Katniss…” and as soon as he says my name, I know he is being serious.  He only ever calls me by my name when he is trying to get my attention.

I wait, almost holding my breath as I do, wondering what he is going to say.

Finally, he says something.

“You’re right…normally a bottle would be my best friend on the last day.  Mainly because I knew that they never stood a chance, but this time…” 

He pauses, his eyes locking with mine, and I can see something in his eyes that I don’t want to believe, so I quickly pull my gaze away from his, looking down at the floor between my feet, and then looking off to the side, rubbing my hands on the outside of my uniform.

Finally, desperate for a change of subject, I ask, “So…what did you want to show me over here?”

I see him shake his head from the corner of my eye…but he lets it go, and responded by saying, “I’m going to show you how to read for an opponent’s weaknesses.  For now, just pay attention to me, can you do that much, sweetheart?”

I nod.

I then listen as he explains what he is doing.

“Okay, now when a person is moving, you can actually find out where their physical weaknesses, are.  Now, I’m telling you this because I suspect that you’re going to be spending a lot of your time up in a tree, which gives you an advantage in any situation, including observing the other tributes without being noticed, so, eyes on me when I tell you,” he adds, pointing a finger at himself, and I do as he asks.

He begins to pace behind me and starts to ask me questions.

“Okay, now can you hear my footsteps?”  I nod.  “Good, now listen for any inconsistencies.  Is the beat even, am I breathing heavy?  These will tell you whether or not I’m injured.  If my breathing’s heavy, but the beat is even, then I’m only just winded, if my breathing’s heavy but my footsteps are erratic, I’m most likely injured or panicked.”

I nod again and say, “Like tracking an animal when you _can’t_ see it.”

He comes back around to the front and gives me a grim smile.

“Exactly, sweetheart.  Now, I want you to observe how I move when you can see me.  Am I favoring a leg?  An arm?  Do I have any visible injuries that you might be able to use to your advantage?  Being able to notice these things in an instant can mean the difference between life and death, out there,” he says with almost a grimace.

He walks in front of me and I notice that he keeping his left arm down and in close to his side.

Quickly, I say, “You’re favoring your left side,” and he gives me a short nod.

“Yeah, I am.  Good eye.”

But he doesn’t say anything more than that…and then he unexpectedly tackles me, and I find myself, yet _again_ , pinned beneath him.  Quickly, not thinking about it, I manage to reverse our positions.  From my new position, I am almost able to mimic the move that he used on me earlier, and just when I think I have him pinned, he looks up at me, and I see a spark in his eye.

He then takes me off guard when he says, “I kinda like you there, sweetheart.  It’s a good position.”

I am so taken back by this comment, my grip on his wrists loosens somewhat and he now has his hands free and has put them on my waist, his thumbs tracing circles just on the inside of my hips.

My body reacts instinctively to his touch, pressing down against him, and my eyes drift close for just a second…and in the next second, he manages to flip the two of us over, yet again, and I let out a groan of frustration and stare up at him, scowling, while at the same time willing my body not to react to the fact that he is nestled firmly between my legs, his solid weight feeling much nicer than it should be, his fingers nowhere near as tight on my wrists as they were at the beginning of our training session.

His breath brushes across my neck and I feel goose bumps break out over my skin, as well as other parts of my body reacting.

He is warm and there is a sheen of sweat on his skin and I suddenly find myself having to hold back from tightening my legs around his waist and leaning up to see if he tastes as good as he smells, which is a heady combination of spiced soap and something else that is causing my body to react to him all too invitingly.

“Okay, I’m really getting tired of this,” I grouse, blowing a strand of hair from my eyes and he gives me an unrepentant grin, and I avert my eyes, trying to hide my reaction to his proximity, but because I am no longer looking at him, I can’t tell if I have succeeded or not.

He doesn’t move…and so I look back at him.

And have to catch my breath.

He is staring at me with a look that I can’t describe, but is the most open and yet the most guarded look I have ever seen on him.

But then he suddenly pulls back, putting significant distance between us, and then says in a grave tone, “This is your lesson today: the enemy can and _will_ learn from you, whether you want them to or not.”

He then stands up and offers me his hand.  I hesitate for a moment, but then accept the offer, and, even after seeing him in training, I am still surprised by his easy strength as he hauls me to my feet, so surprised actually that I stumble slightly and land against his chest, our eyes nearly level with each other’s.

We look at each other at the same time, and I inexplicably find myself leaning in, and just as our mouths might touch, he steps back and I see his jaw tighten and it looks like he’s fighting an internal war with himself.  He then looks at the ground and the air between us becomes uncomfortably strained, and I find myself longing for the few moments that we’d had earlier where it had nearly felt like we were friends.

He finally looks back up at me.

“The most important thing…stay alive.”

And with that, he turns and grabs his bag, walking at a brisk pace to the elevator, not bothering to look back to see if I am following behind him.

I don’t follow.

I don’t know how long I stand there, simply staring at the elevator doors, but I finally find the strength to move and walk over and press the button, barely noticing when I step on and it whisks me away at a brisk speed up to the penthouse suite.

When I step out into the living room, Peeta is there, looking confused.

I don’t move or say a word, I simply stand there looking towards Haymitch’s door, which I perceive worries him as he comes over and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Katniss?  What happened?  Haymitch came in about ten minutes ago, slamming his door behind him, and now you’re all…” He motioned to all of me, indicating my nearly catatonic state, and I simply nodded, still not sure what had happened between the two of us.

Finally, I manage to find my voice, and I not quite coherently say, “Training…we were training…and…there was…fight and…and…” My voice trails for a moment, but I quickly recover, turning my gaze to Peeta and say, “I’m gonna go get cleaned up.  See you at dinner?”

He nods, and I briskly walk to my room at the other end of the suite.

\--

I am tense as I step into the elevator with Haymitch, heading to the roof where the hovercraft waits to take me to Cinna where he will prep me for the arena.  Haymitch seems to be keeping a conscious distance between the two of us as he talks to me on the way up.

“They’ll put all kinds of stuff right in front,” he says. “Right in the mouth of the Cornucopia.  There’ll even be a bow there,” he adds, and I turn to look at him, but he then says, “Don’t go for it.”

“Why not?” I ask, honestly confused.

“It’s a bloodbath, they’re trying to pull you in, that’s not your game,” he explains and I nod. “You turn, run, find high ground, look for water; water’s your new best friend.”  I nod again.  “Now, _don’t_ step off that pedestal early or they’ll blow you sky high,” he warns, and again I nod.

“I won’t,” I verbally reassure him and look back at the elevator doors.

He falls silent and the elevator stops moving and the doors open to a glaringly bright, white light.  The hovercraft is waiting.

We step off together, nearly in unison, and then he stops me by saying my first name.

“Katniss…”

I stare and wait.

“You can do this,” he says, putting his hands on my arms, and I faintly nod. He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but then turns his head instead and looks over at the massive black behemoth that is there to take me away to my inevitable fate.

We look back at each other and he squeezes my arm, so I lift my right hand and place it on his shoulder for a brief moment, trying to reassure him.

And then the look appears in his eyes; the one that he gave me the other day in training.  I wait for something to happen, something momentous, but then I cover it by saying, “Thanks,” and then that’s when it happens.  It’s just an innocent touch, but it resonates in me more than anything I’ve ever felt.  His hand comes to my face, his fingertips along my jaw, the broad expanse of his palm along my neck.  For a mere second it lingers and then is gone as I step away from him, knowing that I can’t trust myself to stay any longer and not act.

I now know why he told me those two words again the other day… _“Stay alive.”_

I have to be in love with Peeta Mellark in order to have a chance of coming out in once piece.  And, no matter how much I might want to throw it away to make what could be the biggest mistake of my life, I have to stay alive.

For Haymitch.

As I walk to the ship, I can feel Haymitch’s eyes on me and I silently make a promise to myself.

_I will love Peeta for you.  Only for you.  And I will come back to you._

I step onto the hovercraft, the last one on…and the door closes.

\----- 

 


End file.
